


'Tis the Season

by BubbleGumLizard



Series: Mystrade NaNoWriMo 2015 [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Christmas, M/M, My brain is dead and I can't think of any tags., prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only a few days before Christmas, a politician is found dead and it's up to Greg Lestrade to find the murderer.  Preferably before Christmas, so everyone can have a joyous holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this story (from matomato, my favorite prompter) is: "Mycroft and Lestrade had a case that intersect with each other, involving murder and politician (you can come up with anything for the case) and they need to undercover to a ball or social event, it supposed to be sherlock and john but they bicker too much and it always end up in hospital, so greg volunteered he is about to ask sally but they need someone that is good in politic." 
> 
> I've put in a bit of backstory and changed a couple things, but I think it's still in the spirit of the prompt. 
> 
> Also, my brain is dead because I have written far too much in the past few days on too little sleep.
> 
> And I started my writing today by writing a six hundred word, beautifully crafted opening to this story and promptly deleting it with my fat fingers like an idiot. Then I had a breakdown in public and tried to recreate what I wrote. I have no idea if I succeeded or not.

Greg Lestrade stood outside in the rain at a crime scene, watching his team going about their business. Cases like this were his least favorite, when he had be involved every step of the way. He hated micromanaging his team, which was made up of very capable people who generally didn’t need his guidance. With an important case like this, however, it would be expected for him to be involved every step of the way. Not to mention all of the higher ups, who would pay Greg visits periodically for a nice bit of shouting (them shouting, Greg listening, of course).

He looked down and cursed the man for being murdered when he was. It wasn’t, perhaps, a thought that he should indulge, but it was December 21 and a high profile murder case meant that they would all be working through Christmas. It wasn’t so much a big deal for Greg, who had no family, but everyone on his team had families that they wanted to see on Christmas, children who would be opening presents, spouses to cuddle under big fluffy blankets, or parents who would nag them endlessly, but end with a big hug and a heartfelt “I love you.” Greg had his television and a lovely bottle of gin that he always bought specially for the day. His crap telly wouldn’t miss him, and he wouldn’t miss it, but his team wouldn’t be so lucky.

Hopefully, they would be able to solve the murder by Christmas Eve, so everyone could spend Christmas Day with their families. Greg didn’t mind spending his holiday in the office, finishing paperwork, which was really the best he could hope for right now.  With any luck, this would be one of the more idiotic murderers and things would wrap up nicely.

He doubted that would happen. He was rarely so lucky.

A sleek black car pulled up to the curb behind him and he ignored it. If Mycroft Holmes wanted to be involved in this case, he could stand out in the rain with the rest of the peasants. Greg was in no mood for an argument, which he was sure he would have with Mycroft. They had known each other nearly a decade and they had a friendly relationship, but dealing with Mycroft was never easy, especially when their jobs intersected with a case. Greg always seemed to be the one to work the cases that involved Mycroft, probably because that’s precisely how Mycroft wanted it. Mycroft knew what to expect with Greg, which sometimes allowed him to manipulate Greg in a way that others wouldn’t be so easily manipulated. Greg also didn’t mind working with Mycroft, which was more than could be said for many others on the police force. Mycroft was bloody gorgeous, charismatic, and one never felt like the full truth was being explained when dealing with him. Others might have disliked that sort of working relationship, but Greg never minded it. He knew that Mycroft was usually lying about something and he didn’t mind being manipulated as long as it was for the greater good. There were certainly things that Mycroft did for the greater good that Greg would mind, but Greg didn’t know about those and probably never would. He could accept those things as a part of Mycroft’s role in the government, just as he could accept that he wouldn’t always be privy to every detail of their cases together.

He wondered idly if that was why Greg was the one to work with Sherlock. Two months after he had first met Mycroft on a case, he was “asked” to let Sherlock take a look at a particularly frustrating case. Since that day, Greg had been encouraged to call Sherlock in on cases, always subtly and always without Sherlock’s knowledge. Greg knew that Sherlock would be in a terrible mood if he ever found out the little perks that Mycroft ensured Greg was given after working with Sherlock. Greg hoped that he wouldn’t need to call Sherlock in on this case. He had been better lately, since John had returned to Baker Street after his divorce, but it was Christmastime and Greg was hoping to avoid all of Sherlock’s drama, if only so he didn’t have to listen to his team complain about dealing with him.

Sally wandered over to Greg, glancing at the car on her way. “Your government bloke is here again,” she said quietly, handing Greg a fresh cup of coffee.

He took a long drink of it, not answering for a few moments. “He’s not my government bloke.”

“You could fool me. He only ever speaks to you. If you’re out to lunch or something, he just sits in your office and waits. Odd bloke.”

Greg took a deep breath. He was in no mood for any of this. He hated Christmas enough without a case that would have Mycroft on his back.

The rain stopped dripping on Greg and he set his jaw, refusing to turn around. He would never have the upper hand in a conversation with Mycroft, but he could pretend for a moment that he was something more than a lap dog.

“Good evening, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said quietly.

Sally looked at him, surprised. “Oh, so you do have a voice,” she said, looking Mycroft up and down.

Mycroft favored her with a particularly withering look before turning his attention back to Greg. “May we speak?”

Greg rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Of course, Mycroft. What do you need?”

Mycroft glanced at Sally meaningfully.

“Anything you say to me regarding this case, you can say in front of Sally,” Greg told him.

“Ah, you’re upset about the timing of the murder.” Mycroft nodded. “I should have known. Big plans for your holiday?”

Greg suppressed a smile. That was a ridiculous thing to ask Greg and Mycroft knew it. “I might not have plans, but my team does. So if we can get this sorted, that would be wonderful.”

“You know who will be able to solve it,” Mycroft said, picking a piece of lint off of his suit.

“We’re not calling the freak in,” Sally interjected.

Mycroft looked at her, surprised. “What did you call my brother?”

“Your brother? Your brother is Sherlock Holmes? You’re—”

“Mycroft Holmes,” Greg interrupted her. “Ignore her, Mycroft. It’s a silly little conflict between two people who don’t play well with others.”

“That is an apt description of my brother. I do ask that you refrain from impolite epithets about Sherlock in my presence,” Mycroft said politely. Greg could tell that he was annoyed with her, but his diplomatic side wasn’t about to let something simple like rudeness stop him from being on good terms with everyone.

“So, what do we have here?” Greg asked. “We know he’s a politician, but we were thinking it was personal. Is he one of yours, then?”

“The opposite, actually,” Mycroft told him grimly. “He was something of a political enemy. I can’t say that I’m disappointed at this turn of events, but this is not how we operate. I need to know who on my side took it upon him- or herself to rid me of this problem.”

Greg smiled. Mycroft wouldn’t have pretended that he didn’t sanction killings if it had just been the two of them, but Sally was there, so he had to be more careful about what he said.

“Well, we have another few hours of work left here,” Greg said, surveying the scene in front of them. “I am able to stop by your office when we are done to discuss the case.”

“I would appreciate that. I would also appreciate you not involving Sherlock just yet. We will discuss his potential involvement later.” Mycroft nodded at Greg, flashing him a smile so small it almost didn’t exist, and then nodded at Sally, no trace of emotion on his face.

“Who is he, anyway?” Sally asked, watching him go. “How can he order you to his office? He’s not a politician I know.”

“No, Sally. He’s the sort of politician no one knows. Those are the most dangerous sort.”

“He’s a higher up, then?” she asked with interest.

Greg glanced at her face. Her interest concerned him. He trusted her, but one could never be too careful when it came to someone like Mycroft. “He’s just a minor official. You know the type. A bit too big in the britches with an old family. He could easily make life complicated for us if we gave him a problem. Easier to play along.”

She looked as if she didn’t believe him, but she nodded anyway and returned to her crime scene work. Greg watched her go, thinking about why she would be so interested in Mycroft. He hoped that it was just simple curiosity. She was a detective, after all. It was unlikely that there was any ulterior motive for her interest, but he resolved to keep an eye on her, just in case.

***

Several hours later, Greg made his way to Mycroft’s home. He knew that after business hours, Mycroft worked at home. No one worked as much as Mycroft did, but at least a good deal of it was at home, where he could be more comfortable. Greg had spent many hours sitting in Mycroft’s study, poring over case files with Mycroft. Those were some of his favorite times the two of them spent together. He liked their occasional social dinners the most, but while working, he liked going over cases with Mycroft. Mycroft was as good a detective as Sherlock, but he rarely had an interest in expending the mental energy required to think about simple things like murders, so he rarely helped with cases.

Anthea let Greg in, barely looking at him before pointing up the stairs and then returning to her office, which was on the ground floor.

Mycroft’s home was an old family house, which had been inhabited by Holmeses since it was built several centuries before. The ground floor held the normal rooms you might expect, several parlors, a formal dining room, an impressive library, and a kitchen. One of the parlors had been converted into offices for Mycroft’s assistant, drivers, and security people, nicer offices than Greg would ever have. There was also an office for the housekeeper, who kept the house up and running twenty-four hours a day, so Mycroft wouldn’t need to wait for anything if he was up working. The second floor held several guest bedrooms, Mycroft’s bedroom, and the room Greg normally saw, Mycroft’s study. There were more floors, but Greg had never seen them. He only knew what was contained in the rest of the house because Mycroft gave him a tour the first time he paid a social call, when they had just finished a big case and had shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. The tour had only extended to the second floor, so Greg had always assumed that the really secret stuff was kept on the higher floors.

Greg knocked on the door to Mycroft’s study and then let him in. Mycroft was sitting by the fire in a dressing gown and pajamas, reading a file. Ah, so it was going to be a late meeting. When there was little to discuss, Mycroft waited until after his meeting with Greg to change into his pajamas. When Greg saw Mycroft dressed comfortably, they were going to be there a while.

“What news do you have for me?” Mycroft asked, setting his papers down. The formality of his speech was lessened as Mycroft slipped into the friendly persona he used when he was with Greg.

“Not much, I’m afraid. There’s some forensics we’ll need to wait on. I sent copies of everything to your people, so it shouldn’t take long, but there isn’t much to go on until we see that. Whoever did this is good.” Greg handed Mycroft the file he was carrying, which was much thinner than Greg would like.

Mycroft frowned. “I was afraid of that. I have any number of people who are capable of committing such a murder without leaving a trace.”

Greg fell into the chair next to Mycroft’s. He was tired from a long day out in the cold and rain. “And you’re sure it’s one of your people?”

Mycroft nodded. “It obviously wasn’t personal and professionally, I’m the only one who benefits from his death.”

“It wasn’t you?” Greg asked softly.

Mycroft looked up at him, surprised. “Why would you ask me that? Would it change what you plan to do?”

“No, it doesn’t change anything. It’s a silly question, because if it were you, it would clearly be personal and we would have a suspect in custody already, wrapped up nice and neatly for us like a Christmas present. I just wanted to make sure.”

“What would you do if I had said yes, I was responsible?”

Greg shrugged. “I have no idea. Perhaps nothing. But if you had made a mistake with something like this, I would probably help you.”

“Helping me with something like that could cost you your job, your freedom, or even your life.” Mycroft’s voice was calm and measured, but Greg could tell that he was emotional about what Greg had said.

“Some people are worth it,” Greg said, not looking up at Mycroft. “I truly believe that you’re a good man, Mycroft Holmes. You are good for the country and good for the world. I would do what I needed to ensure that you can continue doing your work. As sentimental and melodramatic as that sounds.”

Greg felt a hand on his and looked down to see Mycroft grasping his hand. When he looked up, Mycroft was smiling. “You have no idea what joy it brings me to hear you say that, Greg. It’s nice to know that I have your support.”

There was something in the air when Mycroft said that, some sort of emotional charge that Greg couldn’t name. It happened often when they were together: one of them would say something sentimental and the tone of the conversation would change to something intense and emotional. It never went anywhere, but Greg often wondered what it meant. He and Mycroft were rarely sentimental, which was partially to blame for Greg’s divorce and Greg suspected was one reason Mycroft had never been married.

Greg took a deep breath, watching Mycroft’s face as they sat together, Mycroft’s hand gripping Greg’s tightly. He wanted to say something, give Mycroft an excuse to close the gap between them, but he was afraid. Mycroft was so hard to read, even to a friend of several years, and Greg didn’t want to ruin the relationship over a misread situation.

Eventually Greg broke the eye contact, looking down at the lap and pulling his hand away. “We should start going over that file. I would like to sleep at some point.”

They went over the file piece by piece, Greg explaining everything to Mycroft with crystal clarity. When they had finished, Greg stretched and yawn, checking his watch and cursing at the time.

“Why didn’t you want Sherlock working this one?” Greg asked Mycroft, remembering what Mycroft had said at the crime scene.

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Sherlock has been having some difficulties lately. He and John hare having some problems and he has become particularly difficult to deal with. I am confident that you and I can solve this one. You and I aren’t being pulled away from anyone important for Christmas, right? Let’s leave Sherlock with John to sort themselves out.”

“That’s oddly romantic of you, Mycroft,” Greg said with a grin. He thought it was quite nice for Mycroft to worry about Sherlock’s relationship with John enough to want them to have a nice Christmas.

“Would you like to stay the night, Greg? I have pajamas that will fit you and my housekeeper will launder your clothes.”

Greg smiled. Every so often when they worked late on a case, he stayed in one of Mycroft’s spare bedrooms. Mycroft’s house was much closer to Greg’s office than Greg’s flat was, so it saved him quite a bit of travel time. When he stayed there, he was able to get an hour of sleep he wouldn’t otherwise be able to have.

“I would like that,” Greg said, standing and following Mycroft to the spare room he always put Greg in, listening as Mycroft explained what to do with his dirty clothes and where he would be able to find them in the morning. Greg was dying for a nice hot shower, but he enjoyed listening to Mycroft talk, so he just listened.

“If you need anything, I’ll be right next door,” Mycroft said. This was new. While Mycroft always explained everything to Greg even though it was the same every time he stayed, Mycroft had never mentioned that he was available if Greg should need something.

What could Greg need Mycroft for in the middle of the night? Greg’s imagination took the thought and ran with it, coming up with ideas that would make Greg blush to say aloud. 

“Then I know where to find you,” Greg said softly, surprising himself with his tone and words. He rarely flirted and he certainly never did it with Mycroft. He might wish that he could flirt with Mycroft, or wish that he could kiss him or tear his ridiculously posh clothing from his body, but he never flirted.

Mycroft reached out and pressed Greg’s hand. “I mean it. Anything.”

Greg’s mouth watered at the images his brain was throwing at him. He nodded with a smile, thinking about what he might do after he had a shower. He left Mycroft at the door and went into the en-suite, turning on the shower to hot and scrubbing himself clean with the very nice products that Mycroft kept stocked in his house.

Greg put his clothes out to be washed and put on the pajama bottoms that had been laid out for him. He considered also wearing the top, but he had plans to knock on Mycroft’s door, wondering what sort of reception he would get. There was something different about this night, something different in Mycroft’s demeanor. Maybe it was the case they were working, maybe it was the holiday season, but Mycroft seemed to want more from Greg.

Luckily, Greg was happy to give Mycroft anything that he wanted.

Unfortunately for both of them, Greg sat down to make some notes about the case that he thought of in the shower and fell asleep sitting up in bed, pen in his hand. He didn’t awaken until his phone’s alarm went off four hours later, at six in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg dressed quickly in his freshly laundered clothes. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen, where he knew Mycroft ate breakfast. While previous generations in the house had always eaten in the dining room, Mycroft enjoyed watching the housekeeper doing work in the kitchen. He was quite attached to her and she to him. They spent much time together, she working on the next meal or cleaning something, Mycroft running the country. Mycroft once mentioned to Greg that their jobs were similar: Mycroft was simply the keeper of a much bigger house.

Mycroft was sitting in his usual seat. He smiled at Greg, his usual, friendly smile. None of the promise of the previous night remained, he was just his normal self, friends with Greg for most of the past decade. 

Greg sat next to him with a sigh. “I sat down to write some notes and I fell asleep. Dead to the world.”

“Ah,” Mycroft said, his attention on his newspaper. “Well, I hope you slept well.”

Greg nodded. “Always do, when I’m at your house. I did have something I wanted to discuss with you last night, after my shower, but like I said, I fell asleep.” He was anxious that Mycroft knew that Greg intended to knock on his door and ravish him, if he had been permitted.

“It’s probably for the best. It is always a mistake to discuss things at such a late hour.” Mycroft wasn’t looking at him and Greg was sure that he was misunderstanding the situation. Greg knew that if he could only get Mycroft to look up, Mycroft would see the heat in Greg’s face and would know that any interest Mycroft had felt the night before was returned tenfold. Mycroft being Mycroft, he refused to move his gaze from his paper as he drank his tea.

“I really did want to—” Greg started, but was interrupted by Mycroft slamming his teacup down on the table.

“Forget it, Greg,” Mycroft said in a low voice.

“It’s forgotten,” Greg lied, standing. “I need to get into the office. This murderer won’t let catch himself. Let me know if you have any ideas on the case.”

When Greg arrived at his office, one of the higher ups was there to yell at him and Sally about the slow progress on the case. He was reprimanded for getting into the office so late and then the man left, leaving Greg to sit at his desk miserably. When he checked the time, it was ten to eight.

“Why don’t you have your government friend tell them to leave us alone?” Sally asked, sitting across the desk from him.

“He doesn’t have that sort of power, Sally. Like I said, minor official. And we’re not friends. Cases make us work together sometimes.”

“Of course,” she said, disbelieving. She stood, looked out of the office and grinned. “Don’t look now, but your not-a-friend is on his way on.”

Greg sighed. He really didn’t feel in the mood for a continuation of the conversation at breakfast. “Get out, Sally. Tell him to come right in.” He picked up his pen and tried to get some paperwork for an old case out of the way.

“Good morning, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said, sitting across the desk from Greg.

“Good morning, Mister Holmes. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Greg asked with a forced smile.

“I believe I have some information that will allow us to catch our murderer.”

Greg looked up sharply. “Close the door behind you,” he said to Anthea.

She stared at him and had opened her mouth to say something when Mycroft waved his hand, dismissing her.

Greg leaned forward. “What sort of information?”

Mycroft handed a file to Greg. Greg looked it over, impressed with the information contained within. It was information from the forensics they had gathered, which Mycroft had his people, who could get the work done much more quickly, do a rush job with. There was also information that had been decoded from the victim’s computer, which appeared to point to the culprit. There were still some tricky bits of it, though. Without Mycroft’s help, Greg knew that they wouldn’t stand a chance of catching the murderer.

“So you can tell me who it is, right?” Greg asked, looking up at Mycroft. There was some detailed information that was coded for one of Mycroft’s employees, that Greg couldn’t understand without help.

Mycroft sighed. “That isn’t the way our system works. Ever afraid of giving one person too much power, it has been set up that I do not know all of the identifying information for my agents. It’s clear from this that one of them is the murderer, but I am unable to tell you any more information.”

Greg let out a frustrated noise and hit the desk with his fist. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting and it made him angry. He had been sure that Mycroft would be able to tell him everything he needed to know and he would be able to wrap everything up.

For once, he wanted to ensure that his people had their normal holidays and were able to spend time with their families. It rarely happened that they had a Christmas completely off and he had been hoping for this one.

“I may have a way to find the culprit,” Mycroft told him quietly.

“Oh? And what is that? Some bureaucratic nonsense?”

Mycroft smiled grimly. “There is a bit of that, yes. Trust me, Greg. I will be fixing this problem with the way things are done. However, that is a discussion for another day. You are interested in a fast resolution to this case so as not to spoil the holiday for your team, yes?”

Greg nodded. Of course Mycroft knew exactly why Greg was so eager to solve this case. He knew Greg’s plans for Christmas, knew that it wasn’t for Greg’s benefit that he wanted the day free. Greg wondered if Mycroft would be spending a rare Christmas with his parents, like the previous year, or if he would be alone in his house, like usual. Mycroft hated Christmas for some reason and he liked to punish himself with solitude, which had always made Greg sad. When Greg was married, he had quite enjoyed Christmas. He finally had someone to enjoy the holiday with, banishing the terrible memories of his childhood Christmases. The few years since the divorce, however, had been very difficult during Christmas, which was why he preferred to spend it with gin.

“So what do we do?” Greg asked, trying to be patient.

“The Christmas ball,” Mycroft said simply, as if that explained everything. Greg stared at him and he sighed, launching into a longer explanation. “There is a Christmas ball on December twenty-third every year for government employees. It’s part of the cover for my people that they attend. That’s where I can see all of them together to figure out who did this.”

“So you’re going to go to a ball, ogle some people, and figure it out?” Greg asked skeptically.

“Yes. I will need some support at the ball, of course.”

“Sherlock?” Greg suggested.

Mycroft made a face. “He’s hardly my first choice. Also, the only way to bring the person in would be as my date. My brother and I are hardly suitable for playing a couple.”

Greg shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. You two argue as much as my wife and I did. What about Sally? She’s quite good at what she does.”

Mycroft considered it for a moment. “I do not personally know anyone who will be at the ball, there is quite a bit of separation between me and my people, for security reasons. I think it will be immensely clear to them, however, that your Sally Donovan is not my date.”

“Will it?”

“Yes, Greg. These people are extremely observant. My orientation might make it hard to believe that I am dating a woman.”

Greg hadn’t considered that. He supposed he had never given Mycroft’s sexual orientation much thought. He had hoped that there was some interest in men there, but he hadn’t considered Mycroft particularly obvious with any orientation. In fact, never having known Mycroft to be in any sort of romantic relationship, he assumed that Mycroft wasn’t generally interested in sex, let alone being openly gay.

“Is it that obvious? I never noticed,” Greg said, looking at Mycroft thoughtfully.

“Really?” Mycroft seemed surprised. “My exclusive interest in men hasn’t been made clear to you?”

Greg shrugged. “I suppose I haven’t thought much about it. I’ve never known you to date anyone, so I thought it wasn’t something you bothered with.”

“I date. Perhaps less often than you, but I’ve gone on dates,” Mycroft told him defensively.

Greg smiled, pleased that the tone of the conversation was becoming more playful once again. When he upset Mycroft, it always took some time, but he always managed to get him back to friendly. “Less often than me means you don’t date, Mycroft. I haven’t dated since my divorce.”

“There isn’t anyone who interests you?”

“There is someone who interests me, but that person always seems unavailable. I keep sending signals, but they’re not making it through or I do something silly to cock it up.” Greg kept his eyes locked on Mycroft’s as he spoke, wanting to be clear about his meaning.

The corner of Mycroft’s mouth quirked slightly, which gave Greg some hope. “So Sally is out.”

“Who can we have go with you?” Greg asked, looking at the file in front of him helplessly.

“Why don’t you do it?” Mycroft asked.

Greg looked up, surprised. “Me? Go to a ball?”

“And why not?”

“Mycroft, I’m hardly the sort to attend a ball. I’m sure I don’t even own an appropriate suit.”

“I can take care of the suit if you can put it on and show up,” Mycroft told him. “You’re perfect for it. You know everything about the case. You can help me catch him.”

“If you go, won’t it blow your security? You said that you don’t normally attend this ball,” Greg pointed out, worried that Mycroft might be put in danger if he were in a room full of who knew how many spies and assassins.

“It won’t be a problem for me to stay undercover for the ball. I can be new to the organization and you can be my trophy husband.” He flashed an amused grin as Greg blushed.

“I think then they’ll wonder what you lost to get me as a trophy,” Greg muttered, reading over selections of the file again. He looked up at Mycroft and nodded. “Very well. I will do it.”

“We have much to do to prepare,” Mycroft said. “I will ensure you receive the appropriate permits for an operation such as this. You will be in charge of the operation, of course. Gather your best people and we can brief them on the situation this afternoon.”

Mycroft stood to leave, but Greg reached out and grabbed his arm, holding it tightly. He had no doubt that Mycroft could get out of the hold if he wanted to, but he didn’t try.

“I’m trusting you, Mycroft. This whole situation isn’t some convoluted way for you to accomplish something, is it?” Greg asked.

Mycroft studied his face for a moment and then shook his head. “No, Greg. If I needed to use you for something like that, I would tell you. Your friendship is too important to me to risk it over something like this.”

Greg nodded and released Mycroft, watching him leave. He sat back down at his desk and covered his face with his hands. He normally didn’t mind being a pawn in Mycroft’s political games, but he had a nasty feeling about this situation. He disliked the thought that Mycroft might have killed a man and framed someone for it, using his relationship with Greg to get the case through the courts. He thought he could trust Mycroft with things that counted, but he wasn’t sure if Mycroft could recognize this situation as a time when it counted to tell the truth. Greg was sure that Mycroft had people who could find out the identity of the murderer and take care of him without using the police force. It was, of course, Greg’s job to find murderers like this, but generally when their cases intersected, Mycroft simply took them away from Greg and settled them himself. It was rare that Greg was allowed to continue working on a case, especially once his team had done the preliminary work at the crime scene, unless Mycroft had some reason for involving Greg’s team.

Sally came to the doorway and knocked, startling Greg out of his thoughts. “Was that about the case, boss?”

“Yes, Sally. We’ll be having a meeting about it later today. Let the team know.”

“Do we know something, sir?”

“I think we do, Sally,” Greg said with a firm nod. “It looks like we’ll be able to get him with enough time to spare for a real holiday.”

Sally smiled and left to tell the others about the meeting. Greg worried that he shouldn’t have said anything about the team being home on Christmas, almost like it was tempting fate, but he couldn’t help but give the team some hope. That was what Christmas was about after all, wasn’t it? Hopes that were sure to be destroyed by reality at any moment.

Later that afternoon, Greg gathered his team to brief them. Mycroft appeared precisely on time. Greg wasn’t sure how to introduce Mycroft, so he decided to let the man introduce himself. He stood at the head of the table in the conference room, next to where Mycroft was sitting.

“Okay, team,” he began, looking around the room at everyone, noticing how exhausted they all looked. “We have a guest and I’m going to let him introduce himself, so be on your best behavior.”

He looked at Mycroft, who stood up. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am Mycroft Holmes, a minor government official. My line of work crosses paths with yours on occasion, I’m sure you have seen me here when I have met with Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Holmes?” someone asked. Greg noticed that the team was all looking at Mycroft curiously, wondering if he was going to admit who his brother was.

“Ah, yes. You have all met my younger brother, Sherlock. While I’m sure you are all dying to regale me with fond memories of my brother, I assure you, I know all too well what a joy he can be and your assurances that you adore him are unnecessary.”

The group chuckled and Greg smiled at Mycroft, pleased that he was getting off on the right foot with Greg’s team. He had some worries that Mycroft would be as well-liked as Sherlock, which would make the situation more difficult. Luckily, it didn’t seem like  that was going to be the case.

“So what’s the plan, boss?” Sally asked.

“This is the plan,” Mycroft said, setting an invitation on the table.

“We’re having a party?” someone asked with a chuckle.

“Actually, Mister Holmes and I are,” Greg said. “We have received some intelligence with some identifying features of our murderer. In order to ascertain his identity without causing suspicion, Mycroft and I are going to pose as guests at the ball.”

“You’re going to a ball?” Sally asked with a laugh. “As his date?”

“Do you see something wrong with that, Donovan?” Greg knew very well what her problems with that were, but he wanted to make her say them aloud.

“You’re hardly going to fit in as his date. Aren’t you straight?”

Greg chuckled. “Not exactly. I’ve dated men before. It was a long time ago, but the last time I dated a woman was a long time ago as well.”

With his entire team staring at him, Greg shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Mycroft. “Greg will be invaluable to me, with his expertise and observational skills,” Mycroft said. “Other people were discussed, but we felt it would be unbelievable for me to show up with a woman. Since I am the invited guest, people will think he is an escort, if there’s anything odd about it.”

“’Greg’?” Sally asked. “What happened to ‘Detective Inspector Lestrade’?”

Mycroft colored slightly, realizing his mistake. He didn’t seem to know what to say, so Greg stepped in.

“Full disclosure, Mycroft and I are friends. So as not to cause confusion about the power structure of this operation, we decided to stick to formal titles. Since the cat is out of the bag, we may as well just be ourselves,” Greg said.

“Friends? Or more than friends?” Sally asked.

“Friends, Donovan. Would it matter if it were more than that?” Sally shook her head. “Good. I’m friends with Mycroft, just like I am with Sherlock.”

“He’s incapable of friendship,” Sally pointed out.

Greg considered several rude answers, but decided to ignore her instead. He returned to filling the team in on the plan, getting everyone’s input on it and flushing out the details that they had left hazy. The plan came together quite nicely when they all worked on it together and Greg was rather pleased with what was going to happen the next night.

After the meeting, Mycroft asked Greg to allow his tailor to measure Greg. Greg agreed, but wasn’t pleased about it. As he stood in his office, seeing his team members outside laughing at him as a tailor took his measurements, he decided it was a good time to talk to Mycroft.

“Why aren’t you taking care of this situation on your own?” Greg asked, lifting his arms up.

“What do you mean?” Mycroft asked with a frown, looking up from his phone.

“You normally swoop in and take control of everything. Why are you having me handle this?” Greg tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but he didn’t quite succeed.

“Honestly? I want someone who is trustworthy to be in control of it. My enemies could easily claim that this is something I planned entirely, which could be bad for me. My position is such that it’s very hard for me to lose it, but my political enemies could make things very difficult for me. If I have someone in charge of this case who people can see is a good detective inspector with no history of misconduct, it is easier for me to consider the case closed when it’s over.”

Greg considered Mycroft’s answer. He was acting on information provided by Mycroft, but the information was sure to be verified by his own people, who were still working on it. If it weren’t verified, the worst that could happen was arresting the wrong person for a few days.

“There isn’t anyone else you can have do this? I seem like an unlikely choice.”

“There isn’t anyone I trust more, Greg,” Mycroft said with a warm smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg almost didn’t recognize himself. He had showered and dressed in the suit Mycroft had dropped off for him. He looked so unlike himself—he looked good. Unsurprisingly, Mycroft knew how to dress a man. He headed to his office to meet his team, wondering how Mycroft looked if Greg looked this good.

When he arrived, he noticed that the people on his team were staring at him. When he made it into the conference room, where they had set up camp, he saw Mycroft, ready for the ball and talking to Sally.

Greg’s mouth went dry. He was sure he was staring, but he couldn’t have cared less. Mycroft looked so sexy that Greg wanted to bend him over the table and take him right there in front of everyone. He couldn’t believe that he was going to the ball with someone who looked so amazing. Even though he was totally comfortable with Mycroft, he was sure that he was about to make a complete fool of himself.

“Good evening,” Mycroft said when he saw Greg. He saw the look on Greg’s face and blushed slightly, looking away.

“You look amazing,” Greg breathed, staring.

“You look rather handsome yourself,” Mycroft murmured back, walking over and straightening Greg’s tie. “But if you don’t stop staring soon, your team is going to notice.”

“Sorry,” Greg said, brushing some imaginary lint off of Mycroft’s lapel, mainly for an excuse to touch him. “You’re just very sexy.” He bit his lip and looked at Mycroft’s face, worried that he was crossing some sort of line.

Mycroft had a smile of pure happiness on his face, the sort of smile that Greg was sure didn’t grace Mycroft’s face very often. “You’re rather sexy as well. Though I always think you’re sexy.”

Greg blushed. “You don’t want to know what I normally think about when I’m around you,” he said so quietly that it was almost impossible to hear and then turned to address the team before Mycroft could make any sort of reply.

When they were just about to leave for the ball, Sally pulled Greg aside. “Are you sure about him?” she asked, nodding at Mycroft.

“Sure about what?” Greg asked with a frown.

“For you. You’re obviously interested in him. Are you sure he’s correct for you?”

Greg blushed. “This isn’t a real date, Sally.”

“Of course not sir. It’s just, if I may be frank, the way you two were shagging each other with your eyes earlier, it seems like it might be a little too real in some respects. Just be careful, please. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

Greg nodded. “Of course, Sally. I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.”

“I’m certain that’s what Mycroft wants to find out,” she muttered as she walked away, making Greg laugh.

Mycroft and Greg arrived at the ball in Mycroft’s car. The venue was very crowded. Greg had never been to an event like this, so he didn’t quite know what to expect. He decided to follow Mycroft’s lead, assuming that Mycroft was used to things like this.

“Nervous?” Mycroft asked, reaching out and holding Greg’s hand.

Nodding, Greg looked out the window. “I’m afraid I’m going to cock everything up.”

“No one is going to care about how you act,” Mycroft told him. “You look wonderful, that is all they will notice. You know what you’re doing professionally, so as long as you stick to that mind set, you will be fine.”

Greg squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Thank you. That’s just what I needed.”

Greg followed Mycroft out of the car and into the hall where the ball was being held. He kept an eye out for anyone that might be their murderer, but he wasn’t sure he would recognize him. Deciding not to worry about that, he did as he had intended and followed Mycroft along the sides of the room.

“If you wait here, I’ll get us a drink,” Mycroft told him with a smile.

Greg nodded, scanning the room. He brought his hand to his mouth as if to cover a cough and murmured, “How’s everything looking out there, Sally?”

“Things look good, boss,” she said. They had placed several cameras in the room and Mycroft and Greg were both wired with microphones so that Greg’s team could monitor what everyone was doing. The plan was that once Mycroft knew who the murderer was, he would speak a coded sentence and the rest of the ream would storm the place to arrest the man.

Mycroft returned, holding two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Greg and they smiled nervously at each other, both taking sips. They planned to drink as little as possible, but Greg was filled with anxiety, so he drank a bit more than he intended.

“Would you like to dance?” Mycroft asked after a few minutes. “We’ll be able to see the room better.”

Greg nodded with a strained smile. “Sounds lovely.” He put his drink down on a nearby table and let Mycroft lead him onto the dance floor.

As Mycroft put his arms around Greg, Greg couldn’t help but rest his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and breathe out a happy sigh. It was very rare for Greg to have that much physical contact with another person. He hadn’t held anyone or been hugged since his marriage had ended.

He had no shortage of offers, but he wasn’t interested in dating and having his heart broken again. His relationship with his wife had been rocky at the end, but the good times had been the happiest Greg had ever been. When they got married, Greg thought he was going to be happy with her forever. He had no way of knowing that long hours at work (him) and several affairs (her) would destroy his happiness. Now that he was older, he thought it was easier to remain alone. Few people were likely to understand the demands work placed on his time and even fewer of those people were in any way interesting to Greg. He didn’t want to form new relationships anymore, the whole prospect seemed completely exhausting. He was happy with the friendships he had built up, he wasn’t exactly lonely, but he occasionally missed physical contact.

Mycroft let his head rest on Mycroft’s head, letting out a slow breath. Greg was sure that he was about to say something, but he didn’t. When Greg looked up to see what was stopping him, Mycroft smiled and tapped Greg’s suit coat near the microphone.

Greg nodded, understanding. If he were about to say something sentimental, he wouldn’t want to say it in earshot of several members of the police force. He rested his head again, his eyes scanning the room.

“See anyone?” Greg asked quietly when several minutes had passed.

“A few likely people, but he hasn’t tipped his hand yet.”

Greg could tell where Mycroft was looking based on where he steered Greg as they danced. He seemed to be following someone around. It was frustrating that his first time dancing with someone in years was being tainted by a murder investigation.  
Perhaps he should begin dating again, he thought as they danced. He was quite liking this time spent with Mycroft, perhaps it was just that he wanted a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. He hadn’t dated a man since college, and even then it was very casual, considering that he wanted to one day be married and have a family. At the time, it had seemed reasonable to only date women seriously: he couldn’t marry a man and he certainly couldn’t have children with a man. After his divorce, his opinions on the subject had changed. Of course he could marry a man now, and he was no longer concerned about having children, so his reasons for not considering men seriously seemed a bit silly now.

But who would he date? There had been some flirtation with Mycroft over the past few days, but he wasn’t sure if Mycroft would want to date him. Perhaps Mycroft just wanted a shag. Greg admitted to himself that he wasn’t averse to something that casual with Mycroft, even if it wasn’t ideal. He would prefer a full romantic relationship, with all the drama, love, and companionship those entailed, but if Mycroft wanted a good shag now and then, Greg wouldn’t have minded. It had been quite a while for that, as well, and he was more than willing to get back in the saddle as far as shagging was concerned. Other than Mycroft, he didn’t have any idea who he might date. Most of his friends were married and those who weren’t were straight, so he had no chance there (he was fairly certain that Ed from the pub wasn’t his type, anyway).

Lost in his thoughts, Greg stumbled when Mycroft stopped abruptly. “Let’s go this way,” Mycroft said, leading Greg through a side door, out of the large room.

“Where are we going?” Greg asked, frowning as he let Mycroft lead him into a closet.

“What’s happening? Where are you two going?” Sally asked in Greg’s ear. “We can’t see yo—” the ear piece clicked off as Mycroft clicked some device that was in his hands. He placed it on a nearby shelf that appeared to hold cleaning products.

“It’s there if you want to turn them back on and leave,” Mycroft said quietly.

“What are you doing Mycroft?” Greg asked, confused. “What is that?”

“It’s jamming our wires. They can’t hear us, we can’t hear them.”

“Why do you have that?”

Mycroft smiled. “I have all sorts of fun little gadgets, Greg.”

“What are we doing in here? Do you know who the murderer is?”

Mycroft shook his head. “At this time, I have no idea. I wanted to say something to you.”

“What?”

“I am rather drawn to you, Greg,” Mycroft said softly, avoiding Greg’s eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Greg stared. This was a very strange time for Mycroft to be doing this. “This couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to talk to you now.”

“What could be so important that it couldn’t wait twelve hours?” Greg asked, getting annoyed.

“This,” Mycroft said, and pulled Greg to him in a kiss.

Greg kissed back, bringing his hand up to caress Mycroft’s cheek as he slipped his tongue between Mycroft’s lips, tasting his mouth gently. When they pulled apart, Greg didn’t know what to say.

“That was nice,” Mycroft said eventually.

Greg chuckled. “It was, yeah. But why couldn’t it wait?”

Mycroft shrugged and shook his head. “I decided that I didn’t want to wait. I rarely wait for anything that I want and you’ve been so caught up in the case that I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. I tried the other night, but…”

“But I fell asleep, like a prat,” Greg finished.

Mycroft nodded. “I thought that story was a fabrication.”

“Of course not. It had been a very long day. I wanted to make some notes and the next thing I knew it was morning and I’d missed my chance.”

“So what would you have done if you had remained conscious?” Mycroft asked.

Greg smiled and leaned in for another kiss. He ended this one quickly, however, and pulled back. “We should get back out there. This is a terrible time for this. Sally’s probably going mad out there.”

Mycroft nodded and picked up the device he had used to jam their wires. “We have time to find our culprit. I didn’t want to wait any longer to tell you how I felt.”

“We will talk tomorrow. I promise. Or even tonight, if we wrap this up neatly enough.” Greg straightened his suit, ran a hand down the front of Mycroft to straighten his, and slipped out of the closet and back into the ball.

“—doesn’t come back soon, we’re going to go in,” Sally’s voice clicked back on in Greg’s ear.

“All is well, Donovan, don’t do anything rash,” Greg muttered, turning so it looked like he was talking to Mycroft and not himself.

“What happened? We lost contact.”

“We must have gone into a blind spot for the ear pieces,” Greg told her, not wanting to admit that Mycroft had been responsible.

“We only tested out this room, we didn’t realize that if we left for a bit of a chat, we’d be cut off. Apologies. As soon as we realized what had happened, we returned,” Mycroft said, smiling at Greg as if they were deep in conversation.

“You worried us, boss,” Sally said.

“I’m sorry, Sally. It shouldn’t happen again.”

Mycroft left for a moment while Sally ranted at Greg and returned with two fresh glasses of champagne. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” Greg asked with a grin.

“Perhaps,” Mycroft responded with his own grin.

“Can we keep the flirting to a minimum?” Sally asked irritably in their ears.

“Jealous, Sally?” Greg asked.

“Hardly. You can worry about pulling later. For now, can we focus?”

Greg laughed and glanced at Mycroft, who raised an eyebrow at Greg. “Okay, Sally. We’ll focus.” Greg took a sip of his drink and then set it down, reaching for Mycroft’s hand. “Let’s get you a good view of the room again,” he said.

Mycroft smiled and led the way to the dance floor, where he took the lead as they danced. “We should do this again in the future,” Mycroft commented as they danced.

Greg rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, once again enjoying the embrace. “Go undercover at a Christmas ball?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Dance.”

“Oy. What did I say about flirting?” Sally asked.

“Sally, we need to act like we’re on a date. Would you like us to not chat? Scowl at each other, perhaps?”

“I suppose not. You seem distracted.”

“I assure you, we are no such thing.” Mycroft stopped moving and Greg looked up to see what he was looking at. “I need a closer look at that man over there. You wait where we were standing before and I will be back soon.”

Greg nodded and returned to their glasses of champagne, watching Mycroft make his way over to a group of men standing in a corner of the room. He picked up his glass and sipped from it, mainly for something to do.

“I don’t believe I’ve met you before,” a woman said cheerfully, walking up to Greg. “I thought I knew everyone who was invited to this party.

“Oh, I’m a plus one,” Greg said, trying to be friendly, but not so friendly as to encourage conversation.

“Oh, who are you with? That tall man? I don’t know him either. Odd, I usually know everyone.”

Greg smiled. “He’s new to his position, he said. Just started, so he doesn’t know anyone.”

“Ah, that explains it, then. I’m Karen. And your name is?” she asked, holding her hand out.

“Alan,” Greg supplied his cover name for the evening, shaking her hand.

“That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“I could have sworn that you were this detective inspector I’ve seen in the papers.”

“Detective inspector?” Greg asked, looking at her face. He hadn’t been expecting anyone to know who he was. He was hardly Sherlock.

“Yes. The one who works with that detective. I can’t remember the name. It’s French, I think.”

“Well, my name is Alan Miller,” Greg said, keeping his tone friendly. “You know what they say about everyone having a double, eh?”

She nodded, not sounding convinced. “Yes, that must be it. I would swear that you were him, though. Ah well, life is funny like that sometimes.”

“Mm.” Greg took another sip of his champagne and looked around the room, trying to think of a way out of the conversation.

“This champagne is rather good, isn’t it?” she asked, watching him lift his glass to his lips.

He nodded. “It is.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Well, drink up,” she said and was suddenly gone.

Greg thought that was strange. He moved to set the glass on the table, but he found that his arms suddenly felt very heavy. He tried again, letting go of the glass and saw it fall onto the floor and shatter. Moments later, as if watching a video with a delay between the picture and sound, he heard the crash. He heard Sally saying something in his ear, but he couldn’t understand anything she was saying. It sounded like the sound in his ear piece had been distorted.

“I can’t hear you, Sally,” he said, but his words didn’t sound right either.

He turned, seeing a chair against the wall. He probably just needed to sit down for a moment. The champagne had probably been stronger than he realized, that was it. He took a step toward the chair, but his feet didn’t seem to get the message to move. He looked down at them, rooted firmly where they had been standing for several minutes, gritted his teeth, and tried again.

His feet finally seemed to understand what he wanted, and he took a step. When he tried to take a second step, the same thing happened, however. He wasn’t expecting it, so he tumbled over, ending up on his back, looking at the ceiling. It was a particularly stunning ceiling: they really had chosen a beautiful room for the ball.

As he stared up at the ceiling, blackness overtook him and he knew no more.

 

***

 

Mycroft was speaking to a man he was fairly certain was their murderer, when Sally started shouting about champagne in the ear piece. Frowning, he looked where Greg was standing, to see Greg staring at something on the floor. He saw Greg’s lips move but it didn’t look like he was actually speaking. He couldn’t hear Greg’s feed, so he had no idea what was happening.

“Get over there, Mycroft!” Sally shouted and he smiled and nodded at his suspect, turning to see what was wrong with Greg.

Something caught his ankle and he stumbled, catching himself on a nearby chair. He has righted himself and turned back to where Greg had been, when he realized that Greg was nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter, I have just over 5,000 words left to write before I hit my goal of 150K. I have about nine hours until midnight (realistically, more like five or six good hours of writing -- stupid responsibilities getting in the way). The next two chapters of this should take up 5k-6k words, and then I'd like to write 1k words for the Mystrade Advent Calendar I want to write. So I have plenty to do today!
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying this!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed this to add a warning about graphic violence. I'm not sure if this counts as graphic, but I wanted to put the warning in there in case it bothers anyone. I'm also adding a rating to reflect the violence in this chapter.

Mycroft looked around the room. Greg had been right there and suddenly he was gone. “Get in here!” he said loudly, but from the sound of things, Sally was already making a move.

The lights came up and the music stopped. Mycroft pointed to a man who was trying to get out through a back door and two of Greg’s people seized him. 

“Everyone stay where you are!” Sally shouted as police swarmed the room. “You will need to answer a few questions and you will be promptly released. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

She headed for Mycroft, her eyes narrowed. “What the bloody hell was that? Where did Lestrade go?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea where he is,” Mycroft said, keeping his voice cold and detached. The last thing he needed was to fall to pieces when Greg might be in danger and his mind was currently racing with a myriad of possibilities regarding Greg’s whereabouts.

“Who were those people?”

“What people?”

“These people!” Sally said, holding up a phone that was playing a video. It showed Greg drop his glass, fall to the floor, and then be swiftly picked up and carried away by two people with their backs to the camera.

“How did you let people walk out of here with him?” Mycroft asked, gripping the phone tightly. Where could they have taken him? With Greg unable to defend himself, his kidnappers could do any number of nasty things to him. While Mycroft considered Greg completely capable normally, it was a different story when he was unconscious. His mind jumped all over, imagining the terrible things that could be happening to Greg. It was one of the negatives of Mycroft’s great intelligence that his mind was always inventing new ways to torture him. Though he had learned to quiet the excess thoughts decades ago, in times of stress, he often worked himself into a frenzy. His best defense at times such as that was to act as distant as possible: if he didn’t, he was likely to fall apart worse than Sherlock did when he was in a rage. He had to trick himself into not being worried to accomplish anything, which was what needed to happen in this situation.

“Us? You were in here with him. You weren’t supposed to let anyone drug him! Don’t you know what having a partner means?” Sally’s voice was getting louder and louder. Clearly she was upset about what was happening. She needed a reminder that she was in charge of the situation and needed to act that way. Mycroft didn’t blame her, it was a very difficult situation for everyone involved.

“I suggest you calm yourself if you are to lead the search effort for Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Mycroft said, putting on his best bored voice. “I shall be at my office, offering whatever support I may.”

He needed to get out of there. Once he could call Anthea and have her put some things into motion, they would find Greg in no time. He just needed to get out of the damn room so he could hear to talk to her. He walked for the entrance, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Sally said, reaching out to grab his arm.

Mycroft turned, pulling his arm out of her grip. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are staying here until you’re ruled out as a suspect.”

“A suspect? How could I possibly be a suspect?” Her words weren’t making sense to him. He had done nothing but help Greg and his team, there was no reason to suspect him of doing anything.

“That remains to be seen,” she said.

Mycroft sighed and pressed a button that was hidden on his watch. It was a special type of panic button that would awaken all of his most senior aides and alert the senior government officials that there was trouble. He rarely used it and didn’t like to even consider it, but he didn’t have time at the moment. He brought the watch to his lips and whispered the name of a senior police official, who would be brought to his current location, along with a code denoting the level of emergency.

“I need to get to my office,” he told Sally quietly, following her.

“And what is in your office? Your way to contact your accomplices?”

“I have no accomplices,” Mycroft said, beginning to be annoyed. Sally was going to cause Greg to be hurt by detaining him. “I can help you find Greg from my office.”

“And how will you do that?”

“Donovan!” a booming voice shouted and they looked at the doorway, where a disgruntled man in a dressing gown was standing. “You and Holmes here, now!”

“Is that who I think it is?” Sally asked.

“It is,” Mycroft said, making his way to the door. They were led to a side room, where they could have some privacy.

“Care to explain yourself, Donovan?” the man asked, looking rather displeased to be awakened from his sleep.

“No need to be nasty,” Mycroft said in a quiet voice.

“Right, sir. My apologies.”

“’Sir’?” Sally asked, looking between them.

“Yes, ‘sir’!” the official barked. “This is Mycroft Holmes. He’s the most senior government bloke you’ll ever meet, Donovan. Single-handedly runs the government.”

Sally looked suspicious. “That isn’t true.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Mycroft said, typing rapidly on his phone. “As much as I would enjoy staying here and proving it to you, I really do need to get to my office. I have access to many resources there that will assist us in our search for Greg. My people will be in touch, Sally.”

“Yes, sir,” she said nervously.

He looked up at her, wondering if he should do something to reassure her. It wasn’t in his nature to be reassuring however, so he just nodded. “We will find him, Sally.” He looked at the other man. “Get that scowl off of your face. Sally is to be given every support she needs to help us find Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. He has been kidnapped.”

 

***

 

The first thing that Greg was aware of was that he was alone in some sort of cellar. The second thing he was aware of was an intense ache in his head. He sat up and looked around. He had been right, he was in a cellar of some sort. He stood, noticing that he was still in his suit. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with him other than the headache, for which he was very thankful.

Taking a look around, he didn’t see anything else in the cellar. There was a window very high on the wall, a slit really, which let in a reasonable amount of natural light. Other than that, there was a sturdy wooden door on one wall, which didn’t budge when he tried to push it open, and nothing else. He wondered how long it had been that he was unconscious, if it had been a matter of minutes, hours, or days. He tried to see anything out the window, but he wasn’t tall enough, so all he could see was light.  
He felt in his pockets for anything that might help, but they were all empty. The ear piece he had been wearing was gone, as long as the small wire he had and the attached microphone. He sat against the wall, feeling a bit woozy, and put his head in his hands.

Though many interesting things had happened to Greg in his life, he had never been in a situation like this. He had never found himself trapped in an empty room with no way out and no idea how he got there. He thought about what had happened at the ball, trying to remember what could have brought him to this place. The last thing he remembered was a strange conversation with a woman he didn’t know and the next thing he knew, his limbs weren’t working properly and then he was in this cellar.  
His mouth was dry and he wondered if it had been a while. He hadn’t had enough to drink to make him that thirsty, so he must have been there at least a few hours. His memories were getting sharper, which made him think that the drug, whatever it had been, must be leaving his system. That was a mercy, at least. Perhaps his head would stop hurting as well. It was too much to hope for someone to deliver him food or tell him why he was there, but he couldn’t stop himself from being hopeful.  
He thought about Mycroft. Had Mycroft known this was coming? He didn’t think Mycroft would allow something like this to happen to him, but he never knew. For as well as he knew Mycroft, this could have been planned for months: kill a random politician, ensure that Greg’s team was assigned the case, stage a sting, and kidnap Greg. Mycroft certainly had been acting like they wouldn’t have time to spend together after the ball, which was a bit suspicious. And he wasn’t exactly forthright when it came to what was happening with the case. It seemed just as likely that Mycroft was the cause of all the trouble as he was the solution.

Greg hadn’t really worried about that possibility, because he trusted Mycroft and even if Mycroft did have ulterior motives, Greg’s team would do enough double-checking to ensure that anyone they arrested was truly the correct murderer. Though if this had been the plan, his team might never know what happened to him.

If Mycroft Holmes wanted him to disappear for some reason, he was going to disappear and no one who cared for him would ever know what had happened. That was a terrifying thought.

The door creaked open and two men walked in. “Good morning!” one said cheerfully.

“Is that when it is?” Greg asked. “Morning?”

“None of that. We’ll be asking the questions here,” the man said. “Hold him, Paul,” he directed, and the other man took Greg by the arm, pulling him up. He held Greg’s arms from behind, so they were behind his back. Greg briefly considered putting up a fight, but he was still feeling dizzy from the drug in his system and Paul was quite a bit larger than Greg.

“Got him, Richard,” the man said.

“Now, we have some things to discuss,” the first man, Richard, said. He pulled some gloves onto his hands.

“What could we possibly discuss?” Greg asked him.

“Mycroft Holmes.”

“I don’t know who—” the man struck Greg across the face, silencing him.

“No lying. I know very well that you are a frequent house guest at the old Holmes house.”

“’Frequent is a bit of an exaggeration,’” Greg said through gritted teeth. “I have stayed there.”

“And you work with Sherlock Holmes regularly.”

“I do.”

“Then you admit that you know Mycroft Holmes.”

“I admit nothing of the sort,” Greg said defiantly. He knew he was taking a risk, but he didn’t know what these men were planning and he didn’t want to risk the safety of Mycroft or the British people. Who knew what could happen if the wrong people found out any information about the man who ran the country.

“I know you know him. You know that I know. You have seen what I do to men who do not assist me in my endeavors,” the man said in a quiet voice.

“The murder? The politician?” Greg asked. As he asked, he realized that Mycroft had been speaking to this man at the ball. This must have been the man Mycroft suspected.

He nodded. “Now, you can lie to me again and suffer the way he suffered, or you can tell me the truth and this will all be over.”

“I’m not going to tell you anything.” This earned him another slap, a much harder one this time.

Richard pulled a large knife out of his coat and studied it. “Are you sure about that answer? It’s rather unwise to lie to me.”

“Is it? I’ll have to take your word for it.” Greg wasn’t sure how to stall the man, so he just decided to talk as much as he could.

The man put the tip of the knife into Greg’s shirt and pulled it sharply downward, cutting the fabric cleanly. The sharpness of the blade caused Greg to gasp sharply as he thought about what it would have done to his body if it had gone into him instead of just the beautiful bespoke shirt that Mycroft had procured for the case.

“I will ask you again, Detective Inspector Lestrade. You admit that you know Mycroft Holmes?”

“And I will repeat myself. I admit nothing of the sort. I know Sherlock Holmes, that I admit. And you know I’ve been to the family house. But I know no one by the name Mycroft.”

The man struck Greg in the face again, and for a moment Greg thought he had been hit by the knife. As his vision cleared, he realized that Richard had switched the knife to the other hand before hitting him. After waiting a moment for Greg to come back to himself, the man touched Greg’s stomach with the tip of the knife. 

“Would you like to revise your answer?” he asked. Greg kept his mouth firmly shut and the man ran the knife point along Greg’s skin, causing a thin line of red to bubble up to his skin. “The next cut is deeper, Lestrade. Do not test me.”

“No, I’m quite pleased with my answer, thank you,” Greg told him, doing his best to keep the fear out of his eyes.”

Richard put the knife to Greg’s stomach again and sliced a thin line across it. This one hurt much more and bled more profusely than the last. He certainly wasn’t kidding when he claimed that he would go deeper.

“This is your last chance. If you do not answer truthfully, you will be dying today. It will be slow. It will be painful. You will tell me everything you know, whether you do it between gasps of pain and begging for death or if you just tell me what I want to know.” His eyes were dark and cold, like the cellar they were in. He looked more serious than anyone Greg had ever seen and Greg was sure that he was telling the truth with his promises about what would happen to Greg.

Greg took a deep breath. If he was going to die this way, friendless in a cold cellar, he wasn’t going to betray someone who was important to him. He wondered what Mycroft was doing at the moment, what Sally was doing. They were probably searching for him, if they were able. Hopefully nothing had happened to them and he was the only one currently in danger. He wondered about John and Sherlock, who were embroiled in some relationship drama that would hopefully end with a happy couple. That made him think about Mycroft again and the relationship they could have had. Why hadn’t Mycroft said anything sooner? Greg would have gladly started a relationship with Mycroft. The thought was so tempting, he wondered why he hadn’t done anything about it.

Well, there was nothing left for it. It seemed like his death wasn’t going to be a particularly pleasant one, if they ever were, so he may as well get it out of the way. 

His resolve strengthened, he took a deep breath and looked the man square in the eye. “I’m not telling you anything, so piss off,” he said, and spat in the man’s face.

Greg’s words and spit surprised the man, who stumbled backwards, the knife clattering to the floor. Greg took the distraction to slam his foot down on the foot of the man who was holding him, causing the man to yell and throw Greg to the ground.

Greg heard a gunshot and instinctively covered his head, not knowing who was shooting or for what reason. He didn’t hear another shot, but he heard several shouts and he looked around to see the man who had been holding him lying lifeless on the floor, while the other man held his hands out in surrender.

Sally and several members of Greg’s team were standing near him, some of them holding guns. Greg sat up as Sally turned to smile brightly at him. “You okay, boss?” she asked.

“No, Sally, I’m not,” he said quietly, feeling shaken. 

Sally’s smile turned to a look of concern and she leaned down to help him up, when she was pushed out of the way.

Mycroft fell to his knees in front of Greg, cupping Greg’s face gently in his hands and looking it over. His eyes fell down to Greg’s stomach, which was still bleeding, and he made a small, wounded sound in his throat. When he brought his eyes back up to meet Greg’s, there were tears in them.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” Greg said quietly, starting to shake.

Mycroft took off his coat and draped it over Greg’s shoulders. “What?” he asked.

“They wanted information about you. I didn’t tell them anything. I didn’t say anything.”

Mycroft kissed Greg’s lips softly. “That doesn’t matter, Greg. I’m just pleased that you’re safe.”

Greg didn’t feel able to kiss Mycroft back. He was shaking too badly and the edges of his vision were going blurry. “I feel funny,” he said, his teeth chattering.

Mycroft studied his face intently for a moment, and then turned to Sally. “Get a paramedic in here!” he said urgently. He sat down next to Greg and pulled him into his arms. “Relax, Greg. It’s okay now.”

“What’s happening?”

“I think you’re going into shock,” Mycroft told him, rocking slightly. “We’re getting you help, don’t worry.”

Greg closed his eyes and leaned into Mycroft’s arms. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never, Greg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about shock, so I just made it up. :-)
> 
> Just over 2000 words to go to my goal of 150,000 words! Next chapter should be up in about five hours.


	5. Chapter 5

Greg looked up from the book he was reading as Mycroft entered the room with a nurse pushing a wheelchair. “Are you ready to go home?” she asked cheerfully. It was the next day, Christmas morning, and he had been in the hospital for just over a day. Mycroft had arranged for him to go home early, so even though they wouldn’t normally have allowed him to leave, he was getting out of the hospital early.

“Is that really necessary?” Greg asked, nodding at the wheelchair.

“I’m afraid so. Just until the doors. Then you can walk under your own power.” She held the chair steady as Greg sat in it. When he was settled, she pushed him downstairs to Mycroft’s waiting car, where Mycroft opened the door for him and hovered as he climbed into the car. He looked as if he thought Greg was going to break at any moment. Greg felt perfectly okay, except for slight pain in the wounds on his stomach, but he Mycroft seemed so worried about him that he let him hover.

Once they were both in the car and it was moving, Greg smiled at Mycroft. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass. I’m well enough, or else they wouldn’t send me home, even with your interference.”  
Mycroft nodded, but he still looked nervous. Greg supposed it was natural for Mycroft to be uncomfortable around Greg. Greg had been out of his mind for a bit while the paramedics took care of him. The shock had been a bit terrifying, taking Greg to a dark place that he never hoped to visit again. They doctors had done a fine job patching him up at the hospital and Mycroft had arranged for Greg to be taken to Mycroft’s house under the care of a private nurse so that he didn’t have to spend Christmas in the hospital. Greg cared little for Christmas, but he didn’t want to be in a hospital, alone, surrounded by sick people. He also didn’t want to ask other people to spend their holidays in the hospital with him. Being under the care of a nurse was the best scenario he could hope for under the circumstances, so he was pleased with Mycroft’s assistance in the matter.

Not that he had expected to have anyone to spend the holiday with. He assumed that he was keeping Mycroft away from his family, which made him feel a little guilty, but when Mycroft found out how reluctant Greg was to be in the hospital, he had insisted. Though Greg had tried to convince him to set Greg up with a nurse and then head to his parents’ house, Mycroft had refused, insisting that he would rather be with Greg than with his parents and a potentially sulky Sherlock. Greg supposed that not wanting to be around Sherlock might be sincere, but it didn’t seem normal to not want to be with his parents. Thought Greg supposed that he wouldn’t know what was normal, never having had a normal family. Perhaps avoiding family on holidays was normal.  
It was only a short ride before they reached Mycroft’s house, where Mycroft and the nurse settled Greg into the spare bedroom he used when he stayed there. The nurse left quickly, but Mycroft loitered after he was needed, fussing with the bag of personal items that Anthea had fetched from Greg’s flat.

“Come sit with me?” Greg asked with a smile, patting the bed next to him. Mycroft nodded and Greg pulled the covers back so Mycroft could climb in. If Greg was going to be under the covers, Mycroft could be too. It would be nice to cuddle with Mycroft under the covers, something Greg hadn’t done with anyone since long before his divorce.

Mycroft hesitated and then pulled off his jacket and waistcoat, tossing them on a chair. He toed off his shoes and added his tie to the pile of clothes, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. When that was all done, he climbed in next to Greg. He held his arm out and Greg leaned against him with Mycroft’s arm around his shoulders.

“This is nice,” Mycroft said after a few minutes, finally relaxing.

“You can ask me any questions you want, you know,” Greg said, feeling a bit nervous. Mycroft had been given an overview of the situation, he was sure, but he thought that perhaps Mycroft might want to know what had happened from Greg’s point of view.

“What do you think I’d like to know?” Mycroft’s voice was cold and distant, like he was trying hard not to get upset.

“What they asked me? Why they cut me?”

“You said that you wouldn’t give them any information.” Mycroft sighed heavily. “Honestly, I wish you had told them what they wanted to know. Then you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

Greg was surprised at this. He would have thought that Mycroft would be pleased that he didn’t give any information away. “But if I told them what they wanted, there are any number of things they could have used that information for.”

“You would be okay, though.” Greg realized what Mycroft was saying and smiled. Mycroft thought that Greg’s safety was more important than any secrets he could spill and Greg thought that was adorable. For someone like Mycroft, who lived his life surrounded by secrets to prefer that secrets were told rather than Greg to be hurt was incredibly endearing.

“It isn’t worth it,” Greg said finally, after spending a moment reflecting on how sweet Mycroft could be. “If they used that information to hurt other people, I’d never be able to live with myself.”

Mycroft pulled Greg to him more tightly and kissed his temple. “Are you always so self-sacrificing?” 

“Aren’t you?”

Mycroft chuckled and Greg glowed with pride that he could make the normally stoic Mycroft laugh. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Greg turned so that his face was inches from Mycroft’s. He leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss that turned into something more, a passionate kiss that rocked Greg to his core. He hadn’t felt that sort of electricity from a kiss since he was dating his ex-wife.

It was refreshing to feel it again after so long. “Wow,” he said when they pulled apart, smiling at Mycroft. He reached up and stroked Mycroft’s cheek, liking the way his face looked when he smiled so brightly.

“I wasn’t sure you would still be interested in a relationship,” Mycroft told him, looking away. “Since I caused you to be kidnapped.”

“How did you cause that?” Greg was a bit confused. Even though the whole thing had turned out to be a plot to gain information on Mycroft, he never would have considered it Mycroft’s fault in any way. Mycroft had no control over nutters murdering politicians and kidnapping Greg. Or he hadn’t in this case, anyway. 

“It was all about me. The murder, the ball, the kidnapping. They planned it to gain the upper hand with me. How could you want to be with someone who caused that?” Mycroft looked very uncomfortable as he spoke, which made Greg’s heart melt. He would be willing to accept not having a relationship with Greg because he believed that he was at fault for what happened to Greg. Glad that Mycroft was the only one of them who was that silly, Greg just snuggled up to Mycroft more closely.

“It isn’t your fault that there are bad people in the world,” Greg said quietly. “If anything, it should be a reminder to hold tight to those we care about. I don’t want to waste any more time without you. I’d like to be with you and see where this goes.”

“You’re amazing, Greg. Did you know that?”

Greg kissed him again, pulling Mycroft’s arms more tightly around him. His childhood had been lonely and miserable, his marriage had turned into a living hell, and he last few years he had been alone again. He had spent too many Christmases alone, he was going to get every bit of cuddling and love that he could this Christmas. In fact, he planned to spend as much time cuddling as Mycroft would allow, never letting the man go if he could avoid it.

Several hours later, Greg woke up, still held tightly by Mycroft, but lying down now. He wasn’t sure exactly when they had fallen asleep, but he knew that Mycroft needed it. Mycroft had been awake the entire time that Greg was missing, Sally had told him. Mycroft hadn’t stopped working on finding out who had taken Greg, waking up people all over the city to help them find Greg. It had been Mycroft’s information that had led them to where Greg was being held.

Greg debated on telling Mycroft how close it had been to Greg being killed. He wasn’t sure if Mycroft would see it as his hard work saved Greg just in time or if he would blame himself for it happening in the first place. Probably that latter, Greg decided. Mycroft seemed convinced that it was all his fault, even though everyone else saw him as a hero for finding Greg so quickly. The man with the knife, Richard, would probably tell Mycroft anyway, just to torture him with how late he had been. Greg had seen his type too many times throughout the years and he never got used to dealing with people like him. If Mycroft had any say about it, which he did, Greg was sure that the man would never see the light of day again. That thought suited Greg just fine.

Mycroft shifted in his sleep and whimpered, and Greg put his arm around Mycroft’s middle and held him tightly, burying his face in Mycroft’s chest. He could get used to sleeping like this, wrapped securely in Mycroft’s protective embrace. He was sure that any relationship they had would be at the mercy of their schedules, which were terrible. Well, at least they could have holidays like this every so often. Greg had managed to get his people home for Christmas, he was sure that it would happen every so often in future years. With luck, there would be many Christmases like this to come.

Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! It's done!
> 
> And I'm done with NaNoWriMo! I succeeded in writing 150,000 words in the month of November, which is just NUTS to me. And also, it's December now! Yay!
> 
> I am doing a Mystrade Advent Calendar story! That means part of a story EVERY DAY from now until Christmas! I'm posting the first chapter in a bit, so keep an eye out for it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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